


the universe is made of stories, not atoms

by precious_red



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precious_red/pseuds/precious_red
Summary: Finn, Rey, and Poe listen to stories from those who came before them, about those who came before them.(or, the crew of Rogue One died, but not really.)





	1. Finn

**Author's Note:**

> Finally putting this up in honor of The Last Jedi trailer— enjoy my drowning in Rogue One feelings.

Finn can’t stop fiddling with Poe’s— his— jacket. He rubs his fingers over the worn leather and taps his foot on the metal floor of the Millennium Falcon. The noise is lost in the halls, drowned out by Chewbacca and Han tinkering with something in the next room.

“Alright, alright. You fix it if you’re so smart!” Han yells back to Chewy as he walks into the main room. He’s about to walk right past into the cockpit, but then notices Finn and pauses.

“You okay, kid?” 

Finn’s eyes widen. “Yup, sure. Definitely okay.” 

Han lifts an eyebrow. “Right,” he says, and continues about his work.

This happens several more times, Han crossing between rooms grabbing parts for whatever repairs the piecemeal ship needs, before Finn’s tapping gets too loud to ignore.

“It’s alright to be nervous, you know,” Han says, in his gruff way, plopping down onto the couch beside Finn.

Finn shifts uncomfortably. “What’s there to be nervous about?” he says with a forced laugh, nevermind that this was always going to be a suicide mission, putting aside the part where Finn lied right to the faces of everyone in the rebellion to make it happen.

Han snorts. “You’re pretty awful at posturing, kid.”

Finn glances down at his feet, then in a small voice says: “Do you really think this’ll work?” It’s a childish question, he knows. 

Lips quirked, Han responds, “It’ll have to.” 

Finn thinks about Rey, stuck somewhere on Starkiller Base with their crazy leader. Thinks about a weapon that can literally erase an entire system. It’s hard to put faith in ‘have to’. 

Something in Finn’s face must show how unconvincing Han’s words are because a moment later Han sighs and rubs a hand over his jaw.

“I’ve faced worse odds,” Han says. 

Of course, Han Solo and his long list of daring tales and heroic escapades. “Yeah, but you’re an Alliance legend. I’m… I’m a defector. I’m nobody.” 

Han is quiet for a moment. “Have you ever heard the story of Rogue One?”

Finn shakes his head.

“The first Death Star, it was blown up by Luke,” Han starts, a smile edging onto his face, eyes shining.

Finn nods his head— everyone knows this story, even the Stormtroopers. The last of the Jedi, emerging from nowhere to topple the mightiest Empire the galaxy had ever seen, aided by nothing but luck. He wonders at the look on Han’s face, the pride and life glowing in his eyes, and feels oddly jealous that Han was there for it all. Finn doesn’t get that luxury, hasn’t been touched by fate or the force or whatever power writes the legends of the galaxy.

“Luke had the Force to help him,” Finn points out, trying not to sound bitter.

“That’s not the point. This whole thing started because a group of rebel spies managed to steal the Death Star plans. That’s how the Alliance knew they had a chance. How Luke knew where to shoot. Hell, it’s how I got dragged into this too.”

“Leia told me the story— she was there when it happened. A group of rebels launched a mission to steal the Death Star plans from an Imperial base on Scarif. They acted without orders and forced the Alliance to go in after then— stupid plan, really.”

Finn fights the urge to cringe.

“The rebel fleet got decimated, almost destroyed that day and a lot of folks died. But it worked. They transmitted the plans, got them to Leia, and she got them to Luke.”

Finn’s foot is tapping again. “I don’t get it, why are you telling me this?”

“There isn’t much about the core crew itself. They were a group of misfits, even by my standards. Cassian Andor, rebel captain; Jyn Erso, the daughter of an Imperial officer; a couple of monks, and a defector.”

It clicks into place, and Finn can’t look up to meet Han’s eyes.

“His name was Bodhi Rook. He worked as a cargo pilot for the Empire, at an engineering base. He was the one who escaped the Empire to deliver a message that tipped the Alliance off to the plans. He might have been just another Imperial worker, but he started the chain that saved the galaxy.”

And suddenly, Finn can see him with far too much clarity. Wearing the too-big uniforms the Order always gives low level workers, stuck on a spartan base of white concrete and steel. Flipping through the same set of basic tasks all workers deal with each day, logging hours on a standard issue holo-pad. Watching, always watching, as prisoners come and go, as people die.

Until one day, one day you wake up and the guilt of it has eaten through any part of you that is strong— or weak— enough to stay.

He imagines a cargo worker, slipping into his shuttle in the dead of night, flying low to the ground so as to avoid the guard towers at every base. Imagines the unanswered radio calls from command, demanding an explanation. 

Finn knew a cargo worker at Starkiller base: FJ-4895. She was quiet, withdrawn, but smiled at you if you made eye contact with her in passing. Finn would do so every day, on his way to the barracks after check-in. 

He wonders if Bodhi Rook ever found spots of light like that when he worked for the Empire, wonders what the moment was when that light added and added and grew so bright and brave that he had to leave.

“What happened to him?” Finn croaks, daring to glance up at Han. Han’s eyes are distant, unfocused, staring at the grungy wall of the Falcon.

He offers a sideways glance, half a smile and shrug. “He died. They all did.”

And there it is again, that plummeting fear that kept Finn on Starkiller Base for so long, still with him even after all of this. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Finn snaps.

Han grins. “You don’t think his choice paid off?”

He stands up and walks to the cockpit, and Finn is left to wonder if Bodhi Rook knew he was going to die when he first decided to turn his back on the Imperial Flag, and, if he knew he was going to be remembered long after he was gone.


	2. Poe

Poe grows up on stories. Of course he does, his parents both fought in the Rebellion, standing side by side with legends like Luke Skywalker, Senator Mothma, General Organa. Stories are what drew him to the New Republic, and then to the Rebel Alliance when the New Republic didn’t measure up.

So yes, Poe knows who Cassian Andor is. You don’t grow up on Yavin 4 without hearing about Captain Andor. 

When he was young, Poe would play Rebellion with the other kids. You could be one of four types: soldier, general, pilot, or spy.

Poe always picked pilot, of course, but almost everyone else wanted to be a spy so they could be just like Captain Andor. The legendary commander of Rebel Intelligence, the hero who lead the mission to steal the Death Star plans, the man who gave his life so the Rebellion could have an inkling of hope, Yavin 4’s favorite son. 

After a game of Rebellion, Poe and the other kids would sit on the porch of an elder— sometimes even Poe’s mother, Shara— and listen to them tell stories about the people the kids had just been roleplaying.

There are novels and songs about the Skywalkers, about the war, but for as famous as Captain Andor is on Yavin, no one seems to know anything about him.

“They say he was cunning as a varactyl and twice as brave.”

“He could walk the entire length of a Star Destroyer without a disguise and still not get caught.” 

“Did he have a family? Friends?” Poe would ask, “Did he like Bantha Milk?”— he knew Luke Skywalker did— “What village did he live in? Are his parents still alive?”

“I don’t know sweetie,” his mother would answer, picking him up and placing him on her lap, “I was just a rookie back then so I never met him. No one really talked about him either, but we all relied on the information he found. He was one of the reasons I decided to join.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” she would say with a smile, “There aren’t many fighters from these backwater towns on Yavin. Seeing someone, anyone, from here meant it was alright for the rest of us to join in.”

So Poe does. And it’s not until years later, deep into the second war, on the eve of his most likely final mission, that Poe thinks of Cassian Andor again.

He’s in General Organa’s private quarters, formally summoned to play sabacc with a bored friend and mentor, informally summoned to receive information about an extremely dangerous secret mission.

“Did you know him?” Poe asks, after he’s received orders on what to do, before he stops his lingering and goes out to face his fate.

“Know who?” Leia says, still sitting at her table. Her voice is tired. 

“Captain Andor,” he says, gesturing to one of the many portraits the General has up on her walls. He spots many Alliance heroes up there: Senator Mothma, Senator Organa, Luke Skywalker.

Leia’s face cracks into a small smile. “I did,” she says, “How do you know about Cassian?”

First name basis huh? Sometime Poe forgets that his mentor is also one of the most influential people in the galaxy. 

“I grew up on Yavin 4 too— he’s a hometown hero. They never told us much about him though, outside of tall tales.”

“There were always plenty of those about him,” Leia chuckles. Her eyes are shining like they do in the war room.

“What was he like, for real?” Poe asks, sitting back down at the table.

“Mmm. Rude, mostly. Though, I was plenty rude back then too.”

Poe laughs. “You? Rude? No way.” 

Leia raises an eyebrow, but smiles. “I was sixteen, alright.”

Poe hides a knowing smile. He’s heard plenty of stories about the young General Organa’s wrath.

“I met Cassian a few weeks after my father let me join the Alliance. In secret, of course, I was still technically just the Princess of Alderaan. He was annoyed at having to cater to royalty in any capacity. It was refreshing, really. Everyone else was tripping over themselves to make the Rebellion look respectable, look exciting, look like a storybook. He rolled his eyes at me, said Princess like it was a dirty word, and then went right back to work.”

“Sounds like someone had a crush,” Poe says.

“My father was aghast,” Leia laughs, “So many dashing and noble young men in the Rebellion and I chose the dubious head of Intelligence.”

Privately, Poe decides that the General definitely has a fondness for rude and morally grey fighters. “Senator Organa didn’t like Captain Andor?”

“He respected him, relied on him. But liked? No, I don’t think so. My father was used to the civility of the Republic. As much as everyone likes to pretend otherwise now, the Rebellion was messy.”

Poe thinks back to the stories he grew up on, with all their lustre and gloss. Thinks back to tales of a spymaster who never seemed to actually interrogate or capture or kill anyone. No one ever seemed to mention that fighting a war meant killing other people— Poe certainly didn’t think about that when he signed up. He knows better now. 

“And Captain Andor embodied that mess?”

“He did,” Leia says with an approving smile, “The Council was always uncomfortable with the intelligence branch, an entire department devoted to actively incurring on Imperial territory. Everything else, the fleet, the garrison, was focused on protecting what we had. Intelligence— Cassian— wanted more.”

“I did too. I spent a lot of time lurking around their stations at the base, pestering anyone who would talk to me. Learning about how we kept ourselves alive against such a powerful enemy.”

“What about Captain Andor? Did he ever start to respect you?” Poe asks.

“I certainly hope so,” Leia says, “I got into a fight with him once, over how to intercept a cargo cruiser in the Kyper belt. He wanted to just bug them, steal their transmissions. I wanted to board the vessel to check for paper records. It was silly strategy, I really didn’t have any place getting involved, but I’d like to think he related to my instinct for aggression.”

Something here isn’t adding up. For someone who actually knew Captain Andor personally, General Organa still talks like he’s a mystery, an unfinished story. “Like to think?” Poe asks.

Leia meets Poe’s eyes and her face grows somber. She looks down at her lap. “I didn’t know him for very long. He stole the Death Star plans about six months after we met.” She doesn’t have to finish the story.

For the first time, Poe remembers that Cassian Andor died. 

He fought and fought and saved the galaxy, and he also died. He was killed somewhere, somehow, after handing off the last piece of information he would ever collect.

Poe looks down at his hands, notices that they are shaking. He knows his mission tomorrow is a long shot, knows that there’s no way he’s getting in and out of Jakku in one piece.

This might be the last time he ever talks to Leia. This might be the last time he breathes the air of Yavin 4.

Did Cassian Andor think about that when he flew off to steal the Death Star plans?

“Poe…” Leia says quietly. She reaches out and takes one of his hands, holds it between her own. 

Poe wonders how sixteen year old Leia reacted to watching Cassian Andor fly away and never come back. Wonders if the watching grew easier with time.

“May the force be with you…” she says, like it’s a prayer. 

Perhaps it is.


	3. Rey

Rey and Luke have a fairly regular routine. They start their day early with meditation. Then physical training, then Luke drags Rey out to explore some island on the planet, where they forage for food. Then it’s cooking, cleaning, more physical training, an hour of free time, dinner, and then more meditation.

But some days, when they’re both bursting with the kind of energy that’s self-sustaining, not draining, they sit and tell stories after dinner instead. 

Those days are Rey’s favorites. 

Sometimes, Luke tells her war stories— tales of daring battles above distant moons— but most days they commiserate over how much they hated living on a planet full of sand and nothing else. 

Luke complains about the food selection, Rey complains about the dry air, and they both laugh at being in a place so damp and beautiful now, despite the circumstances.

“Was it hard?” Rey asks one day, as Luke recounts the time his uncle made him take three trips into town because he kept bringing back the wrong part to repair a moisture collector.

Luke pauses.

“Leaving them behind? Leaving it all behind?” Rey says.

Luke sighs. “I think… I think it would have been if I had the option to stay.” And he leaves it at that.

Rey looks down at her feet. “It’s easier, I think, when there’s no one to ask you to stay.”

Luke places a hand on her shoulder, recognizing the sound of loneliness in Rey’s voice. “You have people now.”

Rey laughs softly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

They’re both silent for a moment, Luke staring at Rey pensively.

“What?” she asks finally.

“There’s more on your mind.”

Rey rolls her eyes— Jedi and their dumb mind reading powers. “I guess.” 

Luke is still staring. 

“I don’t know how to have people,” she says hesitantly, “I’ve only ever been alone. I don’t know how to have people rely on me. I’m scared I’ll mess up.”

“Rey…” 

“It was different for you,” Rey interrupts, “You had a family. You knew what it was like to belong somewhere, at least a little bit. The force chose you for a reason. But me? I’m from nowhere. I didn’t matter until now.” 

Luke it quiet for a long moment, and Rey considers apologizing for interrupting. But he doesn’t seem angry. 

“Did I ever tell you where the Rogue Squadron got its name?” he says.

The topic change doesn’t surprise Rey. She’s used to Luke’s cryptic roundabout ways of teaching by now. She shakes her head— she never really considered that her little Alliance pilot doll back on Jakku had an origin story.

“We were named after Rogue One, the ship and crew that stole the original Death Star plans.”

“The crew came together by coincidence really— most of them weren’t even rebels. They had the head of intelligence, a defector, two guardians from the Lost Temple on Jedha, a reprogramed Imperial droid, and Jyn Erso.”

“Jyn Erso…” Rey says, the name echoing in her mouth. 

“She was the daughter of Galen Erso, the engineer behind the Death Star. The Empire captured her father when she was young, and she spent over 20 years living on her own, fending for herself. Leia told me she was dragged into the Rebel cause more than anything, brought by the promise of being left alone after it was over.”

“What changed her mind?” Rey asks.

“I’m not sure,” Luke says, “She was with the Rebellion for a little over a week but in that time, managed to save the galaxy. She was the one who made the mission possible— managed to contact her father for the location of the plans. She attempted to convince the Alliance to directly steal them, but was voted down, so she went rogue with the rest of her team instead. A week before, she had been a thief, a labor camp worker.”

“And after?” 

“There was no after. The entire crew of Rogue One died on the mission to retrieve the Death Star plans. Jyn Erso was with the Rebellion for a week, and in that time decided that she was willing to die for it.”

Rey thinks about Finn, thinks about Han and Chewy and Leia and Luke. Thinks about a base in a jungle on a moon far away from here, even farther from Jakku.

Thinks about Jyn Erso, alone until she wasn’t. Living as a mystery, an orphan, abandoned until the universe called. Thinks about the galaxy placing it’s hand on her forehead, and thinks about Jyn rising to meet its call. Rey closes her eyes, feels the familiar weight of the force on her shoulders, and is at peace.

Dying for something after living for nothing, imagine that.


End file.
